What Happens in Vegas stays in Altadena

Next week my sister is on vacation and she invited me to go with her to Las Vegas.

 There is no place I love more than Vegas.

It is everything - drinking, gambling, shopping, eating- drinking- GAMBLING so many great things all in one place. And everyone in Vegas in on the same page. The last time I was there I left on the first flight of the day, at 6:30 am while getting a cab I noticed three guys stumbling into the entrance of Cesars. All wearing sun glasses one had what appeared to be purple vomit on the front of his shirt, one had a bloody nose, and one had somehow lost his pants, wearing a pair of boxers with green army men. I have been all three of these people at various points in my life.

I love all bad things.  Luckily for me, my parents are both upstanding citizens and hard working people, because If I had been raised by anyone other than my exceptional mother and father I would be a grifter.

I have been fortunate in my life to surround myself with people who are much more controlled, and as a result I'm not doing time in Chino.

So, it just so happens I had a couple of things go my way last month so I have a few extra bucks so I could go.

BUT... need to get some things fixed at the house, and although I have the money, do I really want to leave it on the craps table?

Actually, yes I do. I would also like to drink a lot and smoke and stay up all night.  Yet things have changed and now I have others to consider.  

It seems as though every other day someone mentions to me the high cost of private school- and for me this is x2.  If my daughters go to private school by the time they reach the 6th grade their education(s) will have cost me as much as I spent on college and law school-sobering.  

"Two words, Progressive Jackpot," Pinnter said when I broke the news to him we wouldn't be making the trip.  He then showed me all his teeth, as he does this when he is disappointed.

Typically,  Pinnter does go with me to Vegas..he counts cards and is oddly lucky at Pai Gow, yet I can't allow him to intimidate me into going.  

"I have to think about the girls, " I replied.

"What girls?," he said, as he is still pretending they don't exist.

So next week when my sister is laying by that really cool pool at the Golden Nugget I will be reorganizing the garage.

Charles Lindbergh

Today I saw a show about Charles Lindbergh.

Apparently he had four family's, three which were secret.  The three lived in Germany and just over the boarder in Switzerland, so about four times a year he would fly to Germany and make his rounds to see the secret family's.  His American wife never told anyone she suspected his infidelity.  Is that something you wouldn't know?  

He gave them all different po boxes and changed the boxes every few years, I guess that is how he kept it a secret, for such a high degree of complication that didn't seem to be sophisticated enough to me.  I suppose his American wife simply thought he was out of the country on business, apparently, the other women knew about his American wife, but didn't know about each other - and two were sisters.  

Its been a while since I have heard about someone having multiple "secret" family's.  Sure there are the polygamist, but what Lindbergh did simply could not be done today.  

When I was a kid I remember a really bad tv movie with John Ritter playing a doctor who had three wives, and none of the wives knew about each other.  Based on a true story, the guy is so knotted up trying to keep all these women happy, he dies of a heart attack.  They didn't make him a bad guy, in fact I sort of felt sorry for him in the end.  It seemed like a complicated endeavor for John Ritter, yet  Lindbergh seemed to have an easier time with it.  I attribute this to the fact his secret family's were living in another country, there was really no chance of anyone running into each other in the hospital cafeteria-which is what happened to John Ritter- and what I am sure contributed to his heart attack.

Still, I find the whole idea of a secret anything intriguing.

You just don't hear about this anymore.  Maybe its the economy, supporting more than one household is cost prohibitive, yet, I think its something else.

We are just too far up each others asses, with e-mail, cell phones, texting, skype a person can no longer just leave the country for a few weeks to visit one secret family, and he had three.  

We are all low jacked.

2107 Santa Rosa

Today Gioconda told me there are things I should not blog about.

More specifically, she doesn't want me to blog about the boys.  

Gioconda thinks I only blog about the bad stuff, and its true, I do want to blog about the bad stuff, because it's more interesting.

It may be I am so focused on the "bad (more interesting) stuff", that I don't see the myriad of good things....yet the last time I checked no one who lives here, or uses this address as their permanent mailing address, has rescued a kitten from a burning car, or volunteered to take one of our multiple dogs to a hospital to see cancer kids...no one associated with this address is in the Peace Corp.   She needs to face it, those at 2107 are not "do gooders", we are all just trying to stay on the right side of the law.

I will say I think most of the boys bathe on a regular basis, so there is a good thing.  No one has totaled a car in 2009, there's that.

I think there should be a statute of limitations.  Six months and three days after the event I should be able to blog about it- and most of the time I won't remember.

Still, when you catch a kid with a girl in the back of your red truck at 2:34 am and he tells you (as he is pulling on his pants) that he was talking to her because she had problems with her parents and you scream at him from the middle of the street the following:

"Who are you? Dr. Fucking Phil?  Are you counseling her with your dick?"

I think a person should be able to relate this story to others who may benefit from learning if you wake a person up at 2:34 am on a work night there is going to be a cock block.

I'm not saying this happened at my house, I'm just saying what I don't know, will not hurt any of us.  

Here at 2107 we are all just trying to stay on the right side of the law...

Curse of Facebook

I am now friending my mothers friends on Facebook.

I have moved on from the people I found from high school, and second cousins, the natural progression is to your parents associations.

My mother refuses to be part of it, and there is a part of me that wished I was not sucked in.

I mean, if we haven't spoken for twenty years maybe its for a good reason.   Just when I had decided my life was better without a variety of loose associations, but instead a few trusted solid friends, I "reconnect" with "Lisa" who shared a locker with me for two weeks in the fall of our sophomore year.

"We haven't seen each other since 1980, but it is terrific to 'reconnect' with you on facebook..."

Really, did I leave a void in your life-?-because in all honesty- I have no clue who the fuck you are.

There are those I have made contact with who I was sincerely and honestly thankful for the opportunity- and if you are reading this blog and are one of my facebook friends I am certain you fall within this category.

But then there are those like- and this is not her real name- 'Donna', who hated and made fun of you in high school...fast foward 25 years and you get an e-mail alerting you 'Donna' now wants to be your facebook friend...but she really still hates you- she just wants to see if your fat, or have to wear a uniform to work.  'Donna' has no interest in your well being, its all about the hope your shopping at the plus sized section at Walmart and getting your Cheerios from WIC.

And after 5-6 trys she gets you to bite, and you accept her because you think enough time has really gone by to hold a high school grudge, but your wrong...don't let go of the hate  you had for people in high school or risk of absolute and complete exploitation.

Then one day 'Donna' comments on a picture of you in a cheerleading skirt in high school-

"Healthy thighs..."

And you want to slit her throat, but at the same time your mad at your self because you allowed yourself to let the hate go...

Facebook is ultimately the reason I am making a conscious effort to maintain my ancient hatred(s) and resentment(s) .

Thats why I have decided for me its better to let it fester and manifest disease inside my gut than to allow someone I have hated for 25 years see a picture of me on vacation is Des Moines.

Soccer Dogs

On Tuesday Gioconda, Aidan an I joined 80,000 other people at the Rose Bowl to see a professional soccer match.  

People are insane about this sport.  

I don't get it.

Because I like events only in theory, apparently, the idea of attending this event, in the middle of July, seemed like a good idea to me in the spring...and I may have been drunk.

We had fantastic seats, about ten rows up from the field and directly in the center...but we were watching soccer, so did it really fucking matter?  We are watching men in polyester outfits kick a ball on a field, isn't that the same at any level?

I'm not a big fan of any sport, but I really enjoy a good draft beer and hot dog in a stadium setting.  I will attend a Sparks game, but I am required to go to at least 2 games a season, or it effects my lesbian standing- I'm a diamond member.

I will say, without hesitation, I was -by far- the most unenthusiastic person in the crowd...even the guy selling (three stacked trays) of lemonaide---going up and down the stairs-- had a better time at the game than I did.

My problem with soccer is I just don't understand what all the fuss is about.  For the past 6 years I have gone to more soccer games (Dylan and Aidan play) than I have flossed my teeth, and I have to say flossing my teeth would at the very least eliminate plaque...watching soccer just pisses me off.  It the way the spectators react to soccer that really frosts my balls.

Soccer fans are ape shit about soccer, and it is all very personal.  

Aidan tells me on You Tube he has watched clips of riots at soccer games

"It happens more than you would think," he said.  

"Do you understand rioting over a game that you have no direct involvement, or any real stake in the outcome?"  I asked. 

"Well..," he replied.

Of the 80,000 in the crowd 79,999 were in rapture.

After the game I got a hot dog from a guy in the parking lot cooking it on a camping stove in a grocery cart.  Wrapped in bacon and charred just the right amount, it may have been one of the five best hot dogs of my life.

Three days later I was still talking about it.

"I just can't pin point what about it made it so good.  It was as if he liberated the soul of the hot dog, cooking it the way it was meant to be cooked," I said.

"We were ten rows up in the middle of the field, in a capacity crowd and the only thing you talk about is the shopping cart dog," Gioconda replied.

I'm not ashamed.

The next game I am not going to get  a ticket, I'll just be waiting outside in the parking lot, were the magic really happens.

3 days and 2 nights

On Thursday morning about 6:30 am Gioconda and the boys left for Berkeley, leaving me behind with the two girls. Fortunately, my mom came to help, and I will admit had she not helped it would have been very- very (very,very) difficult.

The girls are doing this thing tag team now where one is always awake.

With the help of someone who will remain nameless (Pinnter), they have worked out a schedule. I found it in their cribs taped to the wall. It has one baby up at every two hour intervals. Although they have done relatively well at maintaining the schedule, there are times when one or the other will fall off.

I know it's all part of a master plan to make us vulnerable to a hostile take over. That's the part of it I find upsetting, the maliciousness, yet babies tend to be undependable so the plot may ultimately be thwarted.

In spite of this attempt to keep me off balance, it is Sunday, Gioconda is back, and everyone is still alive.

Personally, I find working in the home much easier than working outside the home.

Its the little things about work I hate, like finding a place to park and then paying $45.00 every ten minutes (or fraction there of) for the pleasure of stacking my car up with 50 others in a dingy lot and then giving my keys to a guy name Jose with a lazy eye.

I hate the 10 freeway in both directions.

On my best days, I'm ambivalent about my work, as I find it both uninteresting and utterly insignificant.

I grew up thinking women who didn't work outside the home had no sense of identity, but what I have come to know is that is all backwards. There is nothing that strips away more at the fiber of my being than listening to a work comp judge tell me there are no "special appearances" in work comp, and although no one in the room said the words "special appearance" , go on for the next ten minutes talking about the case in which it became an issue. Really? Who gives a fuck?

All I can think is- what am I doing here?

I spent tons of time and money to become an attorney and every once in a while I'll think I just need to find another area- but what I have come to accept is I just don't enjoy work- any type of work. If I have to get in my car to go do it, I don't want to.

I'll take doing loads of laundry any day over ...well pretty much anything I do in my vocation...

In the end its all a trade off, a lecture by an angry white guy about something only he cares about, or an attempt to control my mind by a couple of 5 month babies and a sinister pet.

Love and Money

Tonight I asked Gioconda if we had a reality show that became wildly successful, and we were making $75,000.00 per episode, and we had just signed a contract for 60 shows, and we were in negotiation for our action figures... if we would end up like Jon and Kate (Plus Eight- actually six in our case).

Jon and Kate are getting a DIVORCE, and their little eight will be latch key sextuplets and twins.

Sad but true.

Apparently, Jon has a much younger girlfriend who, and this is just a guess, has not inserted herself up his ass the way Kate did.

I am 45 and I do understand wanting to have the attention of people who have less mileage, like by 20 years, but I want to think I'm the type of person who honors a commitment.

"You wouldn't leave me for someone younger. Money is so much more important to you than romance," Gioconda said, and yes, that is a direct quote.

Harsh but true. 

In the end, money can buy romance.  Wouldn't you rather have lunch on the top of the Eiffel Tower with someone you are luke warm about than eat a stale twinkie sitting in your double wide trailer in Kingman Arizona with someone you are crazy about?  Really.  

Donald Trump is a troll and he is married to an international beauty queen. 

Ric Ocasek, the lead singer from  The Cars, has to be one of the most unfortunate looking people on the planet and he is married to a model.

I could keep going...but I think my point is well made.  It isn't rocket science.  If you have enough dough you can pretty much have anyone you want as long as that person is your financial inferior.

I could not help but consider what would happen if Gioconda and I suddenly became rich and famous.

"So, you might leave me for someone younger, because money is not so important to you," I said.

"Totally", she replied. 

Maglight

The babies are just starting to sleep most of the night through, and I'm beginning to not feel completely sleep deprived.  I have changing diapers, preparing bottles down pat.  Most of the time I'm able to comfort the babies and help them get to sleep.

Overall, I was actually feeling as though I have a handle on the situation, and it has taken me 5 months and 10 days to get to this point.

On the way to Long Beach to have lunch with friends I had a few moments in which I was not in a state of anxiety about my parenting skills. 

Basking in the glow of not feeling as though I wanted to throw up blood for the first time in six months, I honestly wasn't listening to what Gioconda was saying until I heard

"...and then we will have to find a place to store the furniture..."

What?  

Apparently it is time to start baby proofing the house.  My moment of peace shattered with the image of one of my babies pulling a crystal candle stick holder onto their heads.

At lunch I tried to drown my preoccupation with lamps being pulled off tables leaving disfiguring scars on the faces of my daughters with a nice cold sangria, yet I couldn't shake the visual of a shelf full of glass being pulled down with a toddler under it.

Our friend Denise has a three year old.

"Its been a rough week," she said during lunch.

"Rough in what way," I asked.

"Roxy threw a flash light at me when I told her to take a nap," she said.

"What kind of flash light, a Maglight or a plastic Coleman?" I asked.

"Maglight," she replied.

Not a Maglight, I thought.  

Of Gioconda's four sons two are Maglight throwers.  

Last summer I watched a metal chair fly by my office window through the yard as a result of Julien's frustration of putting together a basketball hoop. A few months back Dylan threw the remote to his television against the wall of his room denting the wall and destroying the unit, I remain unclear about the provocation.  Granted it doesn't happen all that often but when those boys loose their shit- they really loose it.

Two out of four are Maglight throwers.  Yet to date I have never had a Maglight thrown at me.

Gioconda tells me that you can tell how your child will be as a teenager at the age of three.

"Three year olds are not fit to be in public," she says.  

I was just getting my head around removing anything that the girls could pull over, fall under and get wedged in between, and then I am hit with the possibility of  one of the girls heaving something heavy at me with a simple request of a refreshing nap.

"Maybe it wasn't personal," I told Denise.  "Maybe it was she just got upset and threw the Maglight, but not really AT you."

"Maybe," Denise replied, but then added "But she also told me my hair was ugly."

Ok, I am so not ready for this...

A Low forehead

One of the things that happens when people die is that secrets are revealed.

This June when I attended my Grandmother's memorial service I discovered something rather unsettling.   Going through my Grandmother's cards and letters I found a card my mother had sent to my Grandmother days after my birth.

The following is a direct quote;

"We think she is fine.  She does have tiny far set eyes and kinda low forehead, but I guess they all look alike at this age..."

The first thought my mother had in her mind when she looked at me after my birth was that I was Down Syndrome.  

"You thought I was Down Syndrome," I said.

"No...No... that wasn't it," she lied in response.

My sister laughed and I knew, my mother thought, even days after my birth I had a significant chromosomal defect.  Granted it was 1963, but really, days after I arrived wouldn't someone have already discussed it with my parents had I, in fact, been Down Syndrome.

I know my mother, and she by sending the note to my Grandmother she was giving the heads up.

Hey, we're thinking its ok, but we may have a retard on our hands.

My Great Grandfather used to list the numbers of Grandchildren and Great Grandchildren he had then say,  " And not a retarded person in the bunch."

Like this is some sort of accomplishment.

After the twins were born the doctor asked me if we had genetic testing done prior to the birth because Sadie's head looked oddly shaped.  It completely flipped me out, but I didn't go putting it down in writing so that one day after my death she finds out that within minutes of her birth I was thinking- great, "special needs". 

It got me thinking, maybe I did have a little touch of Down Syndrome, but I googled it and discovered it is a pretty much all or nothing situation.  But what if I am a very high functioning retarded person who just happened to try really hard and the combination of those two factors took me to where I am today.  

If it gets me into the Special Olympics I'm not objecting.